I was always a good student, but I didn't read that much until I was 18 and I was working my way through college.

I'm not a writer's writer. I'm not a craftsman. I could be, and that would be a one-book-a-year operation.

Nudge threw her arms around my neck. 'I love you Max! I love all of us too!' Yeah, me too,' Said the Gasman. 'I don't care if we have our house, or a cliff ledge, or a cardboard box. Home is wherever we all are, together.

Now, Max, I think we both know your parents aren't missionaries." I opened my eyes wide. "No? Well, for God's sake, don't tell them. They'd be crushed. Thinking they're doing the Lord's work and all.

My favorite books are actually very complicated - 'One Hundred Years of Solitude', 'Ulysses'.

Angel wanted them all to burn in h-e- double toothpicks forever.

I was breathless, talking as fast as I could. I was afraid if I stopped talking, even for a second, I’d start sobbing again. “Whoa, there.” Fang smiled and reached up, tracing a hand down the side of my face, winding strands of my hair around his fingers. “Stop talking and let me just tell you how great it is to wake up staring at your face. Okay?